


Counter-ritual: A Windy City Adventure

by calic0kitt3n (calico_kitten)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Blood Magic, Chicago (City), F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Magic, Nightmares, Not Epilogue Compliant, Powerful Hermione Granger, Rituals, Severus Snape Lives, Tension, Trust, Wandless Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27527440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calico_kitten/pseuds/calic0kitt3n
Summary: Hermione moved across an ocean to escape, only to come face to face with someone she thought buried in the past.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Counter-ritual: A Windy City Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: I don't own these characters or the wizarding world.
> 
> I do, however, claim all errors you might find. Sorry if I missed something.

In her dream, she was working in the potions classroom, tucked down in the dungeons of Hogwarts. At her workstation was a small bottle with a note attached. "Drink me," the note said in a spiky script. Beside it, a cake marked "Eat me”. The choice seemed eerily familiar.

"What will it be, Miss Granger?" drawled the familiar baritone of her professor. He loomed over her desk like a vampire. She imagined him with fangs and snorted disdainfully.

"Something amuse you?"

"Certainly not, Professor."

"Then I suggest you make your decision."

She unstoppered the bottle and took a careful sniff. She mentally labelled it ‘Option A’ and noted that it smelled like nothing at all. She thought up a quick list of odourless potions and didn’t care for the odds. Likewise she examined the cake, ‘Option B’, breaking it open. It looked fairly ordinary, which made the choice more difficult. _Option C: neither_ was not a valid response.

"Well, Miss Granger?"

“What will happen when I do?”

"Pick your poison, Miss Granger. The hour grows late.” She blanched at the word “poison”.

"Did you make them both?"

His lip curled. "Yes."

She bobbed her head thoughtfully and picked up part of the cake. She gave the icing a lick and found it to be just right, not too sweet. She waited an instant, but felt nothing. She then took a nibble, ingesting a small morsel. Then another.

Professor Snape glowered. "It's all or nothing, Miss Granger. Open wide." He lifted the bit of cake still on the plate and pushed it into her waiting mouth as if she were a difficult toddler. His onyx gaze scrutinized her, waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure.

She surprised them both and made a delightful hum as she chewed. It tasted just like what her gran made for her on her birthdays. Just as suddenly her stomach clenched and she felt faint. Something was terribly wrong. She clutched at the man's robes beside her and made a horrid, wrenching sound. His face swam into view, distorted and decidedly nasty.

“Perfect,” he breathed.

She could feel herself falling backwards in an extraordinary fashion, as if in slow motion, and braced herself for the impact of the hard stone floor.

Hermione woke up with a start, sweat pouring off of her. It was the third time that week, the seventh in the past two weeks, she'd had that dream or some variation of it. Her immediate reaction was to make sure that she was well and truly alone. Semi-reassured and the sense of dread ebbing away, she wrapped herself tightly in her blankets and lay there in the dark. Soon there was nothing left but shame. She was 30 years old for goodness sake and it had been over ten years since she’d been in that dreadful room.

She had been living in Nameenwah (a horrid anglicism of a local native word for "coyote"*), a wizarding suburb just to the north of Chicago for the last six years. Chicago had its fair share of ghoul problems, rival vampire hives, and even rumours of faerie beings causing trouble. It had something to do with the Ley lines, but that wasn't Hermione's department. Technically she was on loan from the DMLE, but as of yet she had no plans to return. 

She was there training novice Aurors in self-defence techniques. The war she spent her childhood fighting might have ended some years ago, but she vowed that younger generations would always be ready. That and… she just needed to get away from England. She was still friends with Harry, Ron and the rest, but the notoriety from the war was more curse than blessing and Chicago had seemed a big enough city (and far enough from even the main offices of MACUSA) to start over. Everything was going swimmingly until two Fridays ago. She was on her way home when she accidentally bumped into someone. Eyes like deep pools fixed her stare, widening in surprise and completely unsettling her. After profusely apologising, she hurried home as fast as her legs would carry her to an apparition point. That was the night the nightmares began.

They were all more or less the same: the choice of bottle or cake, each time with some awful effect like making her skin boil, causing her to hallucinate, or worms bursting out of the cake, slithering the whole way down to her stomach. Every nightmare featured Severus Snape mercilessly taunting her. This time she was unable to go back to sleep and chose to owl in sick.

She threw on a warm down jacket and scarf and went for a walk. It was a chilly Spring morning, the air blowing in from the lakes threatening a never-ending winter. She had no fixed destination in mind as she wandered down sidewalks, glancing in shop windows, and considering whether she should stop somewhere to get herself a new quill. Her habit of chewing the edges when she felt anxious meant that her current one was helplessly frayed. Without noticing, she found herself wandering once more down the street she’d been avoiding since the nightmares began. She had turned her head to look back at a cupcake shop that had caught her eye when she met a rather solid, very human wall.

"Miss Granger, I must ask that you stop assaulting my person," the wall sneered at her in a familiar voice, though scratchier than she remembered.

Blinking, she looked up. It was those ebony eyes again, but in the light of day she saw clearly who they belonged to.

"It's… it's not possible,” she stammered.

"Highly improbable, you mean. It seems that I am doomed to never have a moment's peace."

"Wait just one minute," she replied hotly, straightening her spine. “I have every right to be walking down this sidewalk. I live here. I _work_ here.”

"Is that so?" he asked haughtily, his black eyes glittering. "Then why aren't you at work?"

"I– I had a– I don't owe you an explanation!" She crossed her arms. "You can't bully me anymore, Snape." Perhaps finally standing up to one her childhood bullies would help her to stop having nightmares.

His lips turned up ever so slightly at the corners.

“Ever the Gryffindor.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, still attempting at bravado. Even supposedly dead, the man was a horrid git. Harry might have whitewashed the wizard's past misdeeds, but in her mind it did little to excuse his conduct toward his students. Her especially.

"Allow me to buy you a coffee." 

She stared up at him, mouth slightly open in surprise. His body language suggested he was serious. 

She gave a curt nod. A cup of joe wouldn’t be the worse free thing she’d accepted lately. Better than that horrid cheap beer she’d had with a coworker last Friday night anyway.

She alternated between her blueberry muffin and caramel macchiato (skinny, no whip) while attempting to analyze the wizard opposite her as his long fingers dunked a biscotti in a steaming mug of chai tea. For a moment she wondered if she weren’t dreaming again, though something more pleasant for a change. But no, she doubted she’d dream up a coffee shop breakfast with Snape. She tried to focus on him once more, noting that he seemed more relaxed than in the past. With little prompting, he explained in brief, vague terms how he landed in the bustling midwestern US city. They quickly lapsed back into silence.

Surprisingly, it was he who spoke next. “Astounding. You’ve been quiet for ten minutes now and you haven’t exploded.”

“Perhaps I have nothing to say.” 

“Lies, Miss Granger. You always have something to say” he remarked, rising to his feet. He towered over her just then like in her nightmares. A shiver passed over her. “It is time to sate your curiosity.”

She swallowed her nervousness and stood as well.

“Walk with me.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but still she followed, placing her empty mug on the shelf and her muffin wrapper in the trash on the way out. 

They walked along the main road for several minutes before abruptly turning down a narrow alley and then another until they reached a small overgrown yard squashed in between several taller buildings and gated with a six-foot chainlink fence. She watched as he unlocked the gate, opening it just enough for them to pass through. The metal groaned as he closed it behind them. It was a lonely place and for a brief moment she wondered if anyone would find her here if she disappeared. A chill ran up her spine as the lock clicked back into place. Snape brushed past her and led her down the overgrown path towards a small shed. She could feel the hum of magic as he paused and opened the wards for her. The shed was merely a cover: its sole contents were a flight of steep stairs cut into the earth.

Snape, stooping, led their descent, aided by the light of his wand. Roots occasionally grabbed at her hair and more than once she had to pause and pull a curl free. She calculated that they’d descended about a hundred feet or more before the stairs ended and the passage turned sharply to the right. The ceiling was suddenly higher and the tunnel now wide enough for two people to walk abreast. They passed a few rough wooden doors, all marked with alchemical symbols, before he opened one and showed her inside. Torches sprang to life along the bare stone walls and she could see that she was in a mostly empty room with a stone floor and a rectangular table in the center. A bookshelf stood at the far end and a few nearby armchairs were perched around a thick carpet. 

“Sit.” He motioned towards one of the chairs, a wingback that looked as it was from a previous century.

He settled into the one opposite, his dark gaze fixed upon her.

“I have been here for nigh on eight years, Miss Granger. I rarely mix with other wizards. But that has not prevented the dunderheads of MACUSA from interrupting my peace once again. It seems that they have a new problem and thus decided that I should be the one to help provide a solution or be assured that my respite would be no more.”

She made a wry face which seemed to please him, for his demeanor softened slightly.

“Being that you work with the Auror department, it’s possible that you’ve heard of the strange activity in a cemetery called Bachelor’s Grove.”

Her brow furrowed, she nodded. She’d overheard several Aurors talking about it around the office just the week before.

“There are rumours of dark magic and I’ve been called in to deal with what may or may not be a serious bit of magical mayhem.”

“And you seem to think that it likely is.”

“I’ll be looking further into it tomorrow. It’s possible that I will need additional help.” He was looking at her pointedly. “Your experience with horcruxes makes you a good candidate.”

She shuddered at the not-distant-enough memory.

“So what will it be, Miss Granger?”

Hermione visibly blanched at his question as her mind flipped back to her recent nightmares. A shiver passed through her. She could feel his hard stare continue to bore into her, though she refused to meet it. 

“I’ll do it,” she said at last. “After this week, I’ll have a bit of time off.”

He nodded. “That will do.”

“Tell me what you’ve found?” Her attitude shifted as curiosity was indeed getting the better of her.

She followed him over to the table where he produced a small packet from a drawer and which he then unwrapped on the table. She noted that he was very careful not to touch whatever was inside the wrapping. She quickly saw why: it was bones. Small, slender bones.

“Thumbs,” he announced.

She knew that Chicago was notorious for its horrific murders and bizarre crimes, but she’d been living in carefully constructed bubble, leaving the case work to the actual Aurors. And she was sure she’d never seen a pile of thumb bones. She began counting them.

“I’ve done some analysis. You’re looking at the thumbs of twelve different people. Well, the top two sections, anyway.”

“Where did you find them?”

“Scattered around a section of the cemetery.”

“But for them to be stripped of everything, surely they’ve been there–“

“These bones have been chemically stripped, Miss Granger. And all activity at the site began just under two weeks ago, so I would assume that these bones have something to do with a ritual. This is where I will need your assistance. I uncovered something else there as well, but dismantling it wasn’t a one wizard job.”

“Won’t whoever it is notice that their bones are missing?”

“I performed a replicating spell to leave copies. Their uselessness will not be immediately apparent.”

“Right. Of course.” She felt stupid once more. “And what is this other object?”

“A skull. But it is cursed and I couldn’t get near it on my own.”

She furrowed her brow. “There was a catch.”

“Yes. It seems that someone must draw out the thing residing in the skull into another object while someone else blocks it from returning.”

“What sort of thing?”

“It resembled a flame. But it was alive. Of that I can assure you.”

* * *

Her head full of strange thoughts, Hermione was grateful when at last Snape released her to the surface, walking her to the end of the alley before disappearing once more. She picked up lunch on the way home, deciding it was a good afternoon for take away and a movie, which blurred into an evening of more of the same.

Next morning she woke up once more in a sweat, her latest nightmare having consisted of Snape reaching out of a shallow grave, pulling her into a portal leading to a realm full of all manner of frightening creatures.

She grumbled as she got ready for the day. She was slated to give evaluations and her head needed to be clear. She struggled through writing page after page of notes as each trainee demonstrated what they had learned. It was obvious to her colleagues that her thoughts were elsewhere when the day wrapped up.

“What’s eating at ya, Granger?” asked a young wizard who had also been overseeing evaluations.

“Never you mind, Reynolds.”

“You’re not sleeping well.”

“No,” she admitted begrudgingly. “I’m not. Any chance you won’t need me tomorrow?”

“I think we can manage, but you’d better clear it with the boss.”

She gave him a tired smile. “Thanks, Reynolds.”

She exited the room and went to the Head Auror’s office. Malcolm Greene was a thin, balding wizard with a preference for Muggle suits. He looked unassuming behind his massive desk, reading glasses perched on the end of his narrow nose. But looks were deceiving in this case, and Hermione was quite careful in how she spun her tale. In the end, she convinced him that one of her former classmates from Hogwarts had written to consult her on some family issues and she was hoping to be able to long distance floo call the next morning. He wished her the best and reminded her of the date for the following batch of trainees. She didn’t like lying to the man, but the truth felt that much more unsettling.

She’d considered sending Snape an owl that evening, but was unsure if that would somehow compromise his hideout. Or whatever it was. She settled on a patronus, telling him that she was no longer required at the Ministry the next day. He replied in kind, demanding access to her floo, but gave no other details. When he didn’t pop through that evening, she gave herself permission to take a long hot bath and go to bed a bit later than usual.

The following morning she’d planned to have a lie in, but was instead awakened at the crack of dawn by the noise of purposeful footsteps. She sat up in surprise, grasping for her wand, and moments later Severus Snape strode into her room. Even in the dim light, she could make out his silhouette.

“Fuck,” she griped, pulling the blankets higher around her and thankful that she’d worn modest pajamas to bed. She wasn’t sure he could see in the dark, but she wasn’t taking anything for granted. 

He didn’t seem the least bit bothered, neither by her outburst, nor the fact that he was clearly invading her private space. “Still abed, Miss Granger? Where did all that drive disappear to that you’re so famous for?”

She blinked at him in confusion. “You never said–”

“Get up. We’ll be taking the bus. It will be at the corner in twenty minutes.”

“Wha- I never-“ she sputtered.

“Twenty minutes,” he repeated and she heard the sound of the floo. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. What the hell was all that? At least he hadn’t abruptly turned the light on like her mother used to do when she was a child. She scrambled into comfortable, stretchy denims, a long sleeve tee, and a warm jumper before making a quick breakfast of toast, eager to be ready and get out the door. She saw him step out of her fireplace as she was pulling on her coat and shoes. She hurried them both out the door before he could potentially bark at her about being late.

The bus arrived a few minutes after they did. It was already getting crowded, so they were obligated to sit together. They rode in silence. As the bus approached a part of town that frankly Hermione had never paid attention to, Severus signaled to the driver that they would be getting off at the next stop. When the bus deposited them in a seedy neighborhood, Snape strode down the sidewalk, calling over his shoulder for her to hurry. His long trench coat may not have had the same effect as his former billowing robes, but it made him no less intimidating in her mind as she scurried after him. The air was cold and she kept her fists shoved into her pockets as she took two steps for every one of his. By the time he stopped zigging and zagging his way through town, she was puffing and grateful that he’d stopped. They were before a run-down shop, paint peeling from the old wooden sign mounted to the facade. He paused for only a moment, and then pushed the door open.

It was equally shabby on the inside, resembling a neglected junk shop. Snape headed straight for the short, white-haired man at the counter, whose grin revealed that he was missing several teeth and a few of the ones remaining stuck up at odd angles. The two men spoke briefly in hushed voices. Snape beckoned her over as the man led them to a back room full of forgotten boxescovered in dust and spider webs. They snaked through the narrow path until the man pulled up a trap door from the floor, the revealed stairs descending into darkness. _More tunnels_ , she thought with a grimace. She followed Snape down the stairs, torches springing to life along the walls. She felt herself jump when she heard the trap door close above her. They soon arrived in a large central room with doors cut into the walls. It had a “Designated Bomb Shelter” sign still affixed to the wall, partially covered in cobwebs.

“I thought we were going to the cemetery,” she said at last.

He turned and looked her over thoughtfully as if fully noticing her for the first time all day. 

“Have you been sleeping at night?”

His question shocked her, not because it was so blunt but because it was surprisingly personal.

“You woke me up this morning,” she replied curtly.

“The glamour under your eyes does not fool me, Miss Granger.”

“What does that have to do with where we are?”

“Everything, witch. Today we need to do some delicate spellwork, but I have to be sure that you’re up to it.”

Affronted, she turned to face him, her eyes not quite meeting his. “I’m sure I can handle whatever it is.”

“Perhaps,” he drawled. “Do you trust me, Miss Granger?”

“I’ve just followed you halfway across the city, did I not?”

“That’s because you can’t turn away a challenge. But that doesn’t mean you fully trust me. I have felt questions rolling off you the entire morning.”

“You could have told me before we left.”

“There was no time.”

“And on the bus?”

“Someone could have overheard.”

“And they won’t here?”

“No, it’s quite heavily warded.”

“The man upstairs?”

“A squib who took an Unbreakable Vow.”

She blinked, beginning the grasp the import of whatever they were about to do. He reached forward, slipping a finger beneath her chin to tilt it up, forcing her to meet his dark, heavy gaze. She immediately looked away.

“Why do you avoid my eyes?”

“You’re a Legillimens.”

“Perhaps you aren’t the witch for the job after all,” he said evenly.

“Why bother bringing me here if I wasn’t?” she challenged.

“It seems to me, Miss Granger, that we are at an impasse. You either are fully committed or not. There’s no room for doubt.”

In a fit of bravery, she locked her gaze with him. His onyx eyes seemed like swirling pools threatening to draw her down into the depths. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“I don’t need to read your mind to know that you’re uncertain. You wear your emotions on your sleeve as you always have.”

“I’m tired of the nightmares,” she murmured in reply.

“Show me.” 

She gave a tiny nod and heard him whisper the spell, her own thoughts suddenly plunged into a parade of nightmarish Snapes, taunting and mocking her. She cringed as the real Snape rifled through them. But then he kept going, back to their time at Hogwarts. Every horrible memory she’d had of him, every insult… and yet he kept searching. Order meetings where they were both present, times she stood up for him to the others, and there, in the Shack where he nearly died. Where she thought he died. He felt her grief and seemed strangely moved by it. He slipped gently from her mind and brushed her shoulder with his hand as a almost token of affection.

“Walk with me,” he instructed. Her feet did as they were told, carrying her through a doorway and into the wand-lit gloom beyond. The tunnel was narrow and intersected by others and she soon felt disoriented. After some time, they came to a door, which Snape unlocked with a oddly-shaped key. He opened it and ushered her through, locking it behind them before lighting the torches scattered along the walls.

“It is time,” he announced quietly. He walked toward an old battered stone table in the center of the room and indicated for her to stand opposite him. “Hold out your left hand.”

She stretched out her arm and his fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“I need you to trust me,” he pronounced gently as he turned her arm so that it rested palm up.

She gave him a tiny nod, her mind fumbling at his change in demeanor.

His hand slid down until his thumb was wrapped over her own, his other fingers pressing against the back of her hand. He pulled out a small crooked knife and sliced open her palm, the large gash quickly welling up with blood. She winced, gritting her teeth at the pain. He turned her hand, palm downward onto the table and smeared the blood across its centre. Her cut burned fiercely now and tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.

He quickly did the same to the palm of his own left hand, equally smearing the blood on the table, blending it with her own. He then began a low incantation, a mixture of latin and another language she didn’t recognise. A glow began to emanate from the very center, the blood drawing together until it began to inflate like a bubble. It was unnerving and she could feel the power that was slowly beginning to emanate from it. 

It grew ever stronger as surface of the bubble began to ripple with a strange rhythm, something akin to a pulse. Her eyes widened. This wasn’t just a blood ritual - this was magic imbued with a life force of its own.

“It is merely the beginning of a counter-ritual,” Snape whispered. “And now…”

She watched as the bubble continued to grow - it was already the size of a quaffle. 

“Put your left hand to it when I get to three,” he instructed, his voice still a hush. “One. Two. Three.” When they both touched the odd sphere, it stretched and began entering their wounds, drawing their hands toward each other’s like a magnet until the blood was gone and their hands touched. She felt an odd tickling sensation that began in her hand, then her arm, shoulder, and quickly spreading to the rest of her body. Her whole form was coursing with a new power, new magic and her eyes leapt to his. His eyes, normally so guarded, were wide in surprise and devoid of pretense. There was a sudden openness, the darkness in them now warm instead of cold. She herself felt a rush of adrenalin and elation sweep through her once more, like every nerve in her body was singing. She felt good. _Really_ good. He was reciting something again, but she could barely focus. The pressure in her was building much like it had in the bubble, the sound of blood rushing in her ears.

“…sanguis enim sanguinem,” he finished. The sensation slowly ebbed from her and he pulled his hand from her own. 

She was certain that she looked infinitely more ruffled from the event than he did.

“Apparate us back to your apartment and I will explain.”

* * *

When they arrived, she fetched some tea and warm blankets and settled into a overstuffed chair opposite Snape.

“So what did we just do?”

“Our magic has learned to recognise one another’s so that we can merge it wandlessly. We will be able to combine our magic now to undo what the ritual had begun. Blood has been spilt, but not for harm. Magic has been shared, but not for selfish gain.” 

““How did you know it would work?”

“Your memories told me what I need to know.”

“What would have happened had it not worked?”

“Perhaps a trip to hospital, perhaps not.”

“Perhaps?”

“It was highly unlikely. It was simply a question of whether your magic could handle it. I had little doubt of your ability. Obviously my magic could handle such a rudimentary thing.”

“ _My_ ability?” she bit.

“I pay you the slightest compliment and you instantly are on the defence.”

“Forgive me for taking exception when every compliment you give is couched within criticism,” she groused.

“I had no idea you were such a delicate flower, Miss Granger.”

“You infuriating man, you saw my nightmares…”

“Have I not shown my confidence in you?” He snorted and rolled his eyes. “I care little of what you think of me. Once this is over…”

She cut him off. “Once this is over, yes, you can forget I even exist, just as you did these last ten years. You came back into my life like a bloody steamroller, flattening me once again. It’s no wonder you give me nightmares.”

Nostrils flaring, he retorted, “That is NOT what I was going to say. Will you just shut up and listen for once in your damned life?” 

She visibly shrank back in her chair and he rubbed his face with one hand, suddenly looking every bit of his fifty years.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips. “I was going to say that you could go and do something better with your life now that you know what you’re capable of.”

She blinked back the tears that were threatening to drench her cheeks. What did he just say? The man was infuriating and she felt like an emotional yo-yo. 

“What did you just say?” she queried aloud this time, the wind suddenly knocked out of her emotional tirade.

“I don’t need to repeat myself.”

She glared at him once more. “How is it possible for you to say something nice so… so nastily?”

“Did you somehow forget that I am not known for being _nice_?”

“It’s called being civil, Snape. I’m not longer your student to bully about while you play both sides of the fence.”

“Thank Merlin.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those were the worst years of my life, Miss Granger. I’ll thank you for not bringing them up again.”

“You tried your damnedest to make sure they were the worst years of my life as well. You! A teacher! I was supposed to trust you.”

“You did in the end, did you not?”

“Against the judgement of others, yes. I did. You might have been vile, but you weren’t evil.”

“And yet. And yet you still trust me.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t like how this had been going, but now that he’d steered them in another direction, she wasn’t alright with that either.

“Don’t you,” he reiterated.

“I did the ritual, yes.”

“And you will complete it.”

“Yes.”

“Would you have done it if I sent you in alone?”

“No.”

“But if I do it with you?”

“You take calculated risks, Snape. And I trust in your calculations.”

“Interesting,” he murmured. He was peering at her intensely again, like she was some specimen to be dissected. But just then she remembered the feeling of their magic coming together and returned his focused gaze with one of her own. It was his turn to look away.

“We have exactly,” he cast a quick Tempus charm, “ten hours before we can begin again.” 

She busied herself finishing her tea and eventually he explained the next part of the counter-ritual. As he spoke, she felt as though she got a glimpse into the true Severus Snape, the one behind the many masks. A wizard who operated intuitively, but only after careful research, a man of great power whose solitary work had moulded him into a life that was only big enough for himself and yet… she could sense a small flicker in him as he spoke, as if relieved to finally discuss his findings with someone. An odd satisfaction rolled through her, that she was that person with whom he felt able to do so. He paused as he noticed the slight uptick in the corner of her lips.

“Something amuse you?”

“Nothing, just thinking that it’s time for lunch. Care for some take away?”

* * *

The rest of the day flew by in mostly companionable conversation, copious amounts of tea and the occasional tense moment. Soon they were on their way, via a different bus this time, crawling through the city as the sun began to dip below the horizon, bathing the city in a soothing pink light. She’d finally wheedled out of him why he insisted on Muggle transport. Apparently it had something to do with saving magic for the ritual, though whether it was for her benefit or his, he refused to say. Personally she felt that it was odd that he’d made her bring him to his apartment via side-along that afternoon, thus expending her own magic, though he could have just as easily apparated them as well.

By the time they’d made it to the cemetery, it was dark and they had to use their wands to light the way before them. He obviously knew the route to take as they wound through the worn paths to an area where the grass had obviously been trampled down repeatedly. She swallowed, nervous.

Snape stopped once they reached a large tomb whose large horizontal slab was scored with nicks and the occasional burn mark. He produced a pouch from his coat that he overturned on the slab, the small bones scattering on the surface. He gave Hermione a nod and she stepped forward, opposite him.

“Your hands, Miss Granger,” he whispered.

She stretched her hands toward him, palms up. He hovered his own just above, casting a shadow over her in the moonlight. She couldn’t catch his whispered words, though a glow began to grow between their hands as two blue orbs of magic appeared. It felt differently this time, less feverish, though she could feel the magic coursing through her all the way to the soles of her feet and into the ground, as if it needed an exit. She watched as his expression shifted from neutral to almost one of pleasure, which was both unnerving and fascinating, sure that her own had to be mirroring his. She memorised his features, tucking away the vision for another day when she could dissect it properly. 

The orbs grew larger, forcing their hands further apart. Snape’s voice rose higher and she noticed that the bones were glowing now as well, standing on end in a macabre dance. Hadn’t he said something about a skull? She still had yet to see it. The thumbs bones drew nearer to one another and slowly coalesced into a strange object that in the harsh glare of their magic seemed to resemble a small urn. Still their magic grew, pushing them backward until it looked like the entire slab was consumed by blue fire. She could hear Snape chanting, but only just. Suddenly, the magic shot out in several directions, only to be reflected back into a point just above their heads. She squinted up and saw, then, a skull dancing upon their flames, it’s own green flame dancing in and out of its eye sockets. It continued on for a few minutes until there was a large crack that rent the air and the magic between them winked out. The skull tumbled to the slab with a sickening crash, a small fissure now running along one side. There was still a green light within, but it was smaller, duller and reminded her of a fairy light. 

“Your hands again, Miss Granger, this time facing me.”

She held them out as he pronounced another incantation, their magic flaring to life and drawing the green light into the bone urn, which he promptly sealed. A simple Finite ended the pulse of magic in the air. She could hear something bouncing against the walls of the small urn in an angry fashion, like a trapped bee.

“Once again, you are a formidable witch, Miss Granger. I fear your true talents are being wasted.”

Her eyebrows shot up as she waited for him to continue. By the light of the moon, the man looked exhausted.

“I’ll be in contact with you.”

He turned to go.

“No.” She stamped her foot firmly into the ground. There was no way they were going to go through all that for him to just slink off into the shadows until he decided he had need of her again. Or worse, never to hear from him at all.

His head turned. “No?”

“No, I think we need to go eat.” 

The tall wizard said nothing, but allowed her to apparate them back to her neighborhood where she knew they could find some late night Chinese. He guarded his silence as she ordered their food at the small take away around the corner and she wondered if he was drained. She certainly felt tired and she had only been required to be a magical conduit. She led them to her apartment, laid out the boxes on the kitchen table, and provided large bowls, spoons and chopsticks. They ate in relative silence as they surveyed one another and munched their pepper steak, crab rangoon, rice and eggrolls. Hermione was just finishing the end of her rice when Snape cleared his throat.

“Have you never thought of it?” 

“Thought of… what exactly?” she asked, confused.

“A different line of work.”

“Breaking curses and solving crimes?” she chuckled, feeling far better now that her stomach was content.

“Working for yourself.”

“I’m afraid I’m not as solitary a creature as you, Snape.”

He considered this as he chewed.

“With me, then.”

Hermione blinked. “With _you_?”

“It was merely an idea,” he shrugged.

She considered his statement as she led him into the sitting room where she had tea ready and a plate of biscuits. It was far too late to indulge in anything heavier and she’d eaten far too much as it was - expending that much magic had left her famished and exhausted. It was once again strange to see her former Potions professor parked on her sofa with a cup of tea like it was the most normal thing to be doing and now… what exactly was he proposing? There was no time like the present to ask.

“Forgive my impertinence, but exactly what _do_ you do?” (Besides live underground apparently, she finished in her mind.)

“Alternative medicine for Muggles.”

She searched his face for any hint of insincerity.

“And the Ministry lets you do this?”

“They turn a blind eye, provided that I help them when they’re at a loss.”

“How is this possible?”

“I have an office. I got the idea from another wizard in town. There’s more than enough work for us both and he’s a bit of an outlier. I don’t bill myself as a paranormal specialist like he does.” He paused and rolled his eyes. “I deal strictly with medical issues that we know how to fix and they don’t. They think I’m some sort of miracle worker,” he sniggered.

“So why would you want me to help you again?”

He looked at her with eyebrow raised

“You’re overqualified for your current job,” he drawled, as if that explained everything.

“You always said I was rubbish with potions.”

“I’ve decided that you have potential.”

Was that yet another high compliment coming from the professor who detested her while she was in school? How many were they up to that day? She’d lost count, as there had been more than one, which was already shocking enough.

“You’re precise. You simply lack intuition, but we can’t all be perfect.”

His black eyes held a spark of amusement. He knew full well that Hermione’s only standard was, in fact, one of perfection. And she knew that he knew.

“Besides, alternative medicine involves more than potions.”

“So just like that, you offer me a job.”

“That’s what I said. I don’t like to repeat myself.” Ah yes, the surliness she’d always known reappeared. Could she really work with him? Better yet, could he truly work with her?

“Won’t I drive you mad?”

“Doubtless,” came the sardonic reply. “Though you’re a step up from the wizards I’ve worked with in the past.”

She made a wry face.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He shrugged. “Take it or leave it.” He made an indifferent gesture. The wizard was a puzzle. But like all puzzles, Hermione didn’t do well just leaving them. They demanded to be solved. 

Her mind made up, she replied,“When can I start?” 

**Author's Note:**

> *the Potawatomi were one of 3 tribes originally in the Chicago area. You can check out the dictionary here: http://kansasheritage.org/PBP/books/dicto/d_frame.html
> 
> -This story also includes a head nod or three to my favorite wizard in Chicago: Harry Dresden (invented by Jim Butcher)
> 
> This might be a one-off or there might be more – I haven't decided just yet. But I've been enjoying tinkering with this story over the last two months until I got it "right". I hope you've enjoyed it as well! Let me know in the comments. :)


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